Like a drunk hooligan, Ares remained on the bed as he continued to ease the throbbing pain from Athena's slap. He had his eyes closed, and his psyche went numb as if paralysed.
But her sobs disturbed his turmoil, prompting him to sit back, compose himself, and stare at her for seconds—absorbing the pain in her cries, the loneliness of how she coiled like a small child, and understanding now that she already knew what he meant.
Red pomegranates bound them.
If Hades tricked Persephone, Ares manipulated the law-bending it against its will like the cunning he was.
No tears for Athena, but a symphony of growing sympathy and a little guilt crawled into his heart like a thorny vine.
His eyes grew more in weight as he slowly drew closer to her. She heeded not to his presence as she continued to appease her broken spirit, only staring at the mosaics on the floor as its colours morphed into a nauseating kaleidoscope.
His warm hand was on her shoulder, but Athena remained lost in her wonderment.
"The reality hit me with a rock, with all my thoughts turned blank. I can only see darkness. My tongue lingered on the bitter aftertaste of truth. Ares, why must you remind me of such a predicament?"
"I meant no malice. It is only the truth that I say. I—I, too, am lost for words. I am happy for your offer of friendship, but then it came to me of who we are now and what our roles are." He told her, blindly caressing her numb shoulder.
"You begrudged me of my freedom, of my tamed friendship towards you."
"And I accepted it—fully. No—no one has ever offered me a genuine alliance."
The two had gone quiet, listening only to the murmurs of the outside wall and the afternoon that suddenly turned grey and rainy.
Athena never moved a bit, yet her head was restless while sensing a growing pain that threatened to blanket her brain with its prowess. It relentlessly banged and taunted her with Ares's notion that war and wisdom had unknowingly become one on the night they had shared a bed—drunk by the liquors of the sacred pomegranate.
"It has truly slipped out of my knowledge." She thought. "I had forgotten the laws that fed Olympus's heart. I was gradually becoming a simpleton and already lost the rules that bind you to someone in a union. I always believed in the sacredness of marriage and family. However, our situation was forceful. It was a betrayal that I had not foreseen. But I guess—" Athena then faced Ares—turning her whole body towards him, with silver eyes glinting a little spark and a smile that signified her white flag. "I cannot offer any romance in this matrimony. I cannot offer you pleasure—will never give you such! But as I said before, I will be your friend. I will offer you advice; I will certainly be your hetaerea, but I cannot be your lover. I will write poems and tell you forgotten tales—but I can only be your friend. Perhaps someone you can lean on, no more, no less."
The god sighed, reluctantly accepting her offer. He shook her hand and added, "But promise me you will never leave my side."
Without any hesitation, Athena answered in quite a collected manner. "Yes. I honour the sacredness of the bond between two souls. It is part of my principle, Ares."
"I am glad you do." He then warmly smiled at her.
The two started to be benign with each other, though there was no speaking again for a minute, but the aura inside the room somehow felt lighter—airier and calmer. There was a degree of acceptance of their circumstance despite a short moment of half-heartedness. War and wisdom had now become one on a certain point, witnessed by the detailed frescos of Ares's suite and the coloured floors that seemed to glimmer the whole space.
"Ares, I was wondering something," Athena spoke, cutting the god of war's silent soliloquy.
"What is it?"
"What would become of the family who welcomed me? I do fear for them. Vivinna is heavy with child, and I do not want her to work in the fields at this delicate moment."
"As I told you, Owl, that the law is law.
"Well, let me work in the vineyard then." Ares raised a brow as she continued, "By morning, I will do what Vivinna usually do, and when the afternoon comes, I will resume my duty as your companion. Will that arrangement be alright?"
"It is tedious, but that is on you."
"Alright then."
"How about this—why don't you work on my land instead? This Vivinna is under Enyo's command, but I have my part of the agriculture. Mine centres on livestock and wool collection. I also have olives. Why don't you stay on my property?"
Athena was amazed for a while before stating her response. She wondered how he could have had his wealth all this time while still being a deity of the mighty Hellas.
"Will Vivinna and her family be alright then?"
Ares nodded. "I will make sure of it. I will report it now if you want me to."
"That would be wonderful. Thank you. By the way, Ares, one more favour—Will it be alright that this status between us is kept secret?"
His eyes widened, glaring at her in perplexity. "What? Why should we keep it a secret?"
"Your two tails will bite me. I am certain that they will tear off the heads of those who were dear to me. I am keeping my feet on the ground and staying in my lane. I have no more might to prevent such jeopardy."
Understanding her peculiar request, Ares just accepted it. "Fine. All settled then. But there will be a time that Eris and Enyo will know of our situation."
"If you want, you can share a bed with either of them." The silver-eyed beauty teased—a certain mockery that the god of war was slowly rejecting.
"You want me to become a libertine?"
"Are you not?" She retorted kittenishly.
"I thought you value the vows of matrimony in the eyes of Olympus?"
Athena was honestly caught off guard by his profound statement. She chuckled at such upfront jest, though she knew there was a hint of gravity behind his tone.
"I do." She finally answered before darting her attention towards the outside world as she looked through the window and absorbed the cold yet peaceful breeze of the rain.
All was well between them. Like two peas in a pod, the two gradually improved—a new friend to behold, a new comrade to learn from. Despite the space still covered with gawkiness, Ares and Athena managed after the past few hours' draining contemplations. The god even showed the quiet beauty of her room—well, it was more like a small space accessible only through his suite. It was comfortable, not too claustrophobic, but a room fitted for one person.
Athena had a bed, a table and chair on its side, and a wooden chest at its footing for her convenience.
"It is different. I found it odd that I had to pass through your room before entering mine." She noted while observing every detail inside.
"To keep an eye on you," Ares said, causing a surprised reaction from her.
"Oh—well, I already have no choice, no freedom. There is no need for this. But I guess it is what it is." She sighed, not wanting to hear more exclamations from him, who certainly had more to say, more to object, and more to nag now that her life was chained to his. The lady retired to her room, closed her door, and sat on her bed as she studied the emptiness of her space with quite a fulfilment in her heart.
The day began on a heavy note. There was sunshine, but the mounting revelations on both parties were as heavy as the earth on Atlas's shoulders.
It was draining.
It was too much.
It was overwhelming for them that, for the subsequent hours, the god and the woman had not conversed. There were no more greetings to fill their eventide.
But to amend the remaining dreary clouds that loomed over them, Ares requested his servants to have his evening banquet inside his suite, planning to at least share his meal with Athena, who decided to remain in her little quarter, frozen in her seat as she wandered out and about something Ares also knew.
Prepared to perfection: there were meats, soups, side dishes, and sweets already on golden platters. There was wine on each goblet, and servants adorned the whole set with peonies both in blush and white. Once the god was satisfied, he ordered his servants to leave, only to be called later after he and Athena finished.
Nightingales began to sing outside, along with the crickets, making the night bearable and serene. Their song was beautiful. Hearing their melodies from the window, Athena remembered her and Artemis' interaction during the feast. She remembered the goddess of the hunts's nightingale who serenaded them sweetly to keep their minds out of melancholy. Athena then wondered to herself, "Where could Artemis be?"
And outside the door of her little corner, Ares deferred, urging his confidence to seep through his bloodstream before he knocked. As he sensed his manly enthusiasm blinding his bashfulness, Ares softly tapped her door and called. "Athena, will you come outside, please?"
A little scuffle was heard until the door opened.
"What is it?" Athena asked—tired and unprepared by how her hair swayed down and how his red cape crumpled around her figure.
"Di—dinner is ready."
"Huh?"
"Dinner—we will have dinner here."
Silver eyes beguiled, growing like the full moon from his plain-toned invitation.
"Al—Alright." She told him with equal monotone. "Let me prepare myself before—"
"No need, Athena." Ares rejoined, opening the door wider as he reached towards her, offering a hand.
Athena had second thoughts, thinking how unkept she looked for the said dinner. Her face felt droopy, not to mention her long locks were untamed without a single tie to at least make her look presentable. Yet, Ares insisted. He reassured her that it was just only the two of them and no one else. He did not mind her appearance and did not seem to be having any commentary on it.
At last, the once goddess of wisdom conformed to his wishes as she stepped out from her confinement and went towards the prepared dining setting.
The two kept it civil while eating and did not say much except when Ares asked if she found the dinner satisfactory, to which Athena only smiled and nodded. Following that, the whole dinner remained silent. There was no music, no murmurs—only glances from them and the nightingales and crickets singing their hearts out while the night was slowly brewing another rain in its midst.